Christmas Realizations
by ina-anna-etta
Summary: Oneshot. The Hogwarts Professors get a rather abrupt awakening to exactly what the golden trio got up to during the holidays of their first to third years.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. You can try to sue me, but you won't get much. I wouldn't bother.**

"Potter!"

The name was spat out like a curse. The occupants of the table in the middle of the Great Hall looked up, startled, then burst out laughing.

It was December 20, and the three students who had stayed for Christmas break were sitting side by side with the remaining professors at a table in the middle of the Great Hall. Hermione Granger-Weasley was there as the Transfiguration teacher as McGonagall had become Headmistress. Her husband, Ron, was flying teacher, and Harry was in the process of breaking the curse on the DADA position to bits.

The professor who had just entered glared at the table in general. "Potter!" he repeated. "What did you do?"

The raven-haired professor looked up, apparently startled, saying, "Who says I did anything?"

"Who else?"

"Well, there are ten other people here."

"Of course. I should have known. You never do anything without you precious little _friends_, do you?"

"Ron and Hermione had nothing to do with it, actually. Not that either of them are perfectly capable of cooking up something on their own… What I mean is, why should it be me? It could have been Landon, there, or our dear Headmistress, even."

"It could only have been you!" Professor Snape was furious now, giving Harry what had been dubbed the 'one more cauldron, Longbottom…' look.

"Do you mean to imply that our very own Transfigurations Mistress cannot conjure bat wings for a few hours?" Harry's eyebrows were up, and the look on his face was one of pure disbelief (although his eyes twinkled madly.)

"I only mean that the Headmistress would hardly stoop to such a level."

"Ah, of course. But you still haven't eliminated the students."

Snape dropped onto a bench. "_Professor Potter," _he said, his tone dripping with sarcastic patronization. "No student in attendance is over their third year."

Ron chimed in to the 'discussion.' "You shouldn't assume that they didn't do it so quickly. Merlin knows we got into enough mischief during holiday before third year."

The Headmistress joined in. "During summer holidays as well, I believe," she remarked dryly. "I seem to recall something about a flying car…"

"That wasn't me!" Hermione exclaimed. "I knew nothing about it!"

"Christmas second year was all your idea, though," her husband said. Hermione turned beet red.

"_You_ got in trouble?" a rather bold third-year by the name of Landon Basswood asked.

"Oh, do tell, Hermione," said the tiny Professor Flitwick, who had evidently decided to tone down the formality of using proper titles in front of the students during holiday. "I remember that I never got the complete story. And you might as well reveal all of you holiday amusements. I should most enjoy it."

Both Harry and Ron tuned their heads to Hermione. She sighed, realizing that this was something that she might as well give into, and said, "Just first, second and third."

"This is all very well and good, but will someone please remove my extra appendages beforehand?" Professor Snape snarled.

"There you go," Harry said, casually waving a hand and causing the wings to vanish. "Now, starting with first year, I guess…"

"Wait." Hermione said abruptly. "First: none of you are to try any of this, understand? If any of us hear that anything like this happen, we will know who did it."

"Yes, Hermione," Ron replied patiently.

"Umm, first year wasn't to much. Professor Dumbledore gave my dad's invisibility cloak to me that Christmas, so of course I explored the castle. After curfew."

"And the restricted section," Hermione added. "Looking for Nicholas Flamel."

"Right. And I found the mirror of Erised."

"Which turned out right bloody useful," muttered Ron, his mouth full.

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped. "Language!"

"Yes, dear."

Sharing memories and laughter, the three told of the flying car exploits, correcting each other at times. When they reached Christmas, second year, Hermione stopped and flushed a bright red. "Go on Hermione, tell all about Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," said Harry wickedly.

Hermione tossed her curls at him and glared, a variation on Snape's 'you are about to lose 700 points' glare.

"This is the part you are not to attempt," she warned the students. "We all could have been expelled."

"Go on, Professor," teased Ron.

Hermione sighed. "Well, that was the year that everyone thought Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, and we wanted to prove that he wasn't. We thought it was another student-"

"-a Slytherin,"

"Hush, We thought it was another students, so we made a plan to prove it." She blushed again. "Soooo… wemadepolyjuicepotioninMoaningMyrtle'sbathroomandIgotacat'shairinstead- ofastudent'ssoIspentaboutamonthinthehospitalwinghalf-transformedintoacat," she said quickly. "It worked on Ron and Harry, though.," she finished brightly.

Snape shook his head. "A second-year," he said, "Brewed Polyjuice Potion on a _toilet_ and it worked?"

"You made it in a _girl's_ bathroom?" asked Mathew Carson, a second year.

"Oh yes," Ron grinned. "And Myrtle developed a bit of crush on ickle Harrykins. When he came out of the Chamber of Secrets, she said that she was sorry that he hadn't died, as she would have been glad to share her toilet with him."

Apparently this was news to everyone. The table burst into laughter.

"And in third year, Harry blew up his Aunt like a balloon, and used his invisibility cloak to sneak into Hogsmeade," Ron finished.

"Isn't there any more?" Cara Miller was a quiet girl who had not spoken before now, although she had laughed as loud as anyone when told of the lovesick ghost.

"Sorry," Hermione said innocently. "But the statutes of limitations haven't run out on the rest yet."

The table roared with laughter once again.

**A/N Like? Love? Loathe? Review! (Yes corny, but how else am I going to know what you think?) Constructive criticism is appreciated, praise is delightedly devoured, flames are decidedly unappreciated--for Pete's sake, people, if you don't like my fic, tell me why, don't netscream it in a dialect so peppered with cursing that it's hard to see the actual words.**


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